Man, I Feel Like a Woman
by SiriusFan13
Summary: Sometimes you just shouldn't mess with an angry woman. Especially when that woman is a kitsune. And ESPECIALLY when she can cause all kinds of mischief. Hiko finds that out the hard way...when the kitsune decides the macho man is up for a bit of payback
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ruroken, nor do I own the song, "Man, I Feel Like a Woman", which the title is obviously based on. I do own the little kitsune… not that anyone would really want to admit to that…_

**_Man, I Feel Like a Woman_**

**_Chapter 1: In which Hiko learns that some girls are scary…_**

The sun was setting, streaking the horizon with reds and golds over a inky purple palette. A soft, cool breeze blew through the trees, gently swinging the branches, rustling the leaves and making them whisper soft secrets to each other. There was a hint of dampness in the air. A darker grey on the opposite horizon. A storm was on its way… but it would be awhile before the winds picked up and the gentle whispers turned to howling gales.

The great man sat before a small ruddy fire, periodically adding a few dry sticks, trying to kindle it enough to warm his sake. It was going to be a cold night. He needed something warm inside of him to deal with it. A few stray sparks danced up into the sky as he poked at the small fire with another, longer stick, trying to make sure that all of the kindling burned. It was taking a long time. He was getting impatient. His drink of choice sat beside him, beckoning him to take just one small sip. He refrained. One small sip meant the bottle would be empty before the fire was of any use to him. He poked it again in his irritation. A stick cracked and sparked as though voicing its indignant reply.

_Kuso_… He should have just used the kiln. It would have been trickier to time, and probably would have completely wrecked his jug, but as long as the sake was warm, he could always make another one. It wasn't as though he didn't have time. Kenshin was in Kyoto, but he had some issue with that wolf, Saito, that was going to delay him. God only knew how long the baka would be before he visited.

The wind picked up in a sudden cooler, stronger gust. It threatened his poor little fire that fought desperately to survive. The air was damper now, and there was a low rumble in the distance. The last golden glow over the trees on the western horizon had faded in those few moments to a dark velvet. There was another rumble behind him. The storm was advancing more quickly. If he didn't hurry, the rain would finish the job that the wind had started. His little fire dimmed a bit as though in anticipation of its imminent demise. He jabbed at it futilely, knowing it was pointless. He'd drink the sake cold. It put him in a bad mood. He was not the sort of man who liked having to change his plans.

He stood, planning on getting one last armload of kindling for one last valiant attempt, when he heard the first scream. It wasn't far off. He hesitated, unsure if he'd even really heard it. Another rumble of thunder had growled at the same moment, this time accompanied by a quick lightening of the distant sky.

There was no question about the second scream, though. It was much closer, accompanied by the sound of snapping branches as though someone or something were charging him.

He tensed, hand already brushing the hilt of his blade, ready to attack whatever the _thing_ was as soon as it broke through the clearing. Hiko Seijuro, thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu didn't flinch at the possibility of danger. In fact, he was used to all sorts of things… bandits, criminals, any number of dangerous animals. He lived in the middle of nowhere after all. Wild animals were not uncommon there, nor were stupid men. He was ready for anything.

What he was _not_ ready for, however, was a young, half-naked woman to come tearing through the trees at a breakneck speed directly at him. Nothing was following her. Nothing was around, except for this crazy woman, who was so busy watching _nothing_ behind her, that she didn't see the hulking swordsman directly in front of him until she had crashed into him.

The girl had surprising momentum for someone of her size, even moving at a full run. She stumbled. He braced himself, and her. She slipped anyway. And they both fell, kicking up so much dirt, that the fire finally gave up and went out.

He felt the sake bottle crush beneath them. His last one. He hadn't been angry until then. Now he was pissed.

_"What the hell was that all about?"_ he shouted at the poor girl, dragging her up out of the dirt (to his credit, he at least had the tact to look away, as she adjusted her small arrangement of clothing). _"You couldn't even look where you were going?"_

She had been brushing the dirt off of her clothing, apparently unaware that anything unusual had just happened. The man's shouting drew her attention, causing her to look up at his hulking form with a look of complete bewilderment on her face. "I'm sorry… is something wrong?"

His eyebrow twitched, and his grip on the sword tightened. _Cool it, Seijuro_, he warned himself. _Killing the girl, idiot though she may be, will not bring the sake back. Even if it does make you feel better…_

She merely blinked up at him. When he didn't answer, other than the vein throbbing in his forehead, and the bizarre twitching of his eyebrow, she went back to brushing herself off. "Thank you for breaking my fall. Most kind. That oni was ready to take me out. I couldn't deal with it until I was in a clearing. The trees kept distracting me. Good thing you were here." She smiled up at him.

He was not smiling. "You barged into my clearing, destroyed my sake, put out my fire, and now you're babbling about some oni that no one but you can see_… You dumped my sake… my_ last _jug!"_ He took a breath. "What kind of idiotic female are you?"

She blinked up at him again. "I beg your pardon?" Gold eyes blazed in her pale white face. Black eyebrows arched, one almost, but not quite, mimicking the much larger man's twitch from earlier. She straightened up to her full height, which barely reached his chest. She didn't look the least intimidated. "I just thanked you. What more do you want? It isn't my fault that thing was after me. And it certainly wasn't my fault that you were stupid enough to have your sake sitting out where anyone could trample it. Be more careful next time."

She turned to stomp away, just in time to hear him growl, "Leave it to a damned woman to come barging in here and blame _me_ for _her_ disaster. It isn't _my_ fault that you aren't strong enough to deal with your own problems without having to run to _me_ for help. Next time find yourself a damned escort if you're going to go traipsing off through the woods. I'm sure there's a hundred young would-be swordsman that would find nothing more enjoyable than to walk around with a half-clad crazy woman in the mountains. Just try not to knock them off a cliff."

That was apparently the last straw.

He turned to stomp away to the shack and leave the miserable thing outside to find her own bloody way back to town only to realize that he wasn't able to move.

_What the hell?_

The girl was walking back toward him, here eyes glowing, sharp fox-like teeth visible as she sneered. "So, it's my fault because I'm female, is it?" Two soft, white ears poked out of her dark hair. There was a slight growl to her voice now. "I should find a nice, strong man to help me out… someone like you, I'd expect. Some pompous, overbearing mass of muscle who probably has no room left for brains in his head. Some self-indulgent, arrogant _bastard_ who thinks he can say whatever the hell he wants just because he's big and strong and… and… _male_!" She spat out that last word as though it were poison.

Even _he_ had to admit that she was one scary woman at that moment… even _without_ being a kitsune. Even without magic, which she apparently felt the need to use on him now.

_Kuso_! He'd have sworn out loud, but apparently his mouth wouldn't move either. _Perfect_… he thought sourly. He had a bad feeling that he would be hurting. A lot. In a very short time. He managed to grit his teeth. It had better not cause bruising, that's all he cared about. There was no way in _hell_ he was going to get any shit from Kenshin for having been beat up by a five foot tall girl. That baka had been waiting for _years_ to hold something like this over his head…

The kitsune suddenly smiled a dangerous little smile, and approached him, her eyes deadly. "So, what am I going to do with you, hmmm? I could age you a hundred years. A little old man of that age would need a nursemaid to survive. Or maybe I could just add a few pounds to that powerful frame. Let you spend the next ten years having to work it all off before you'd even have the _mobility_ to be a lady's escort… if you could work up the strength to lift yourself up." She smirked, clearly enjoying all of these delightful options.

Suddenly Hiko had a bad feeling that bruises and ridicule from his deshi would be the least of his problems. What the hell was this psychopath _planning_?

She was still musing, enjoying the worry she could see creeping into his eyes. "Or…" she started again, giggling. "Or I could just strip you of all those fine muscles… I wonder how long you'd last as a swordsman if you had my muscle mass!" She flexed her tiny bicep. There was a slight lump at the top of her arm. It took him a moment to realize that _was_ her bicep. This was not good.

"Ohhh, I think I like that one. You'd be no stronger than me…" Then suddenly her eyes lit up in a way that brought a dark beauty to her entire face. Her lips curled into what was first a smile, and then switched to a gleeful laugh. "Oh, no… No, no, no, no, no! That's just too _perfect_! I _love_ it!" She clapped her hands light a delighted child.

Hiko did not share her joy. Her joy brought the mental image of suddenly finding himself a fat, bruised old man with no biceps. It was an ugly image. Something he could maybe picture for Kenshin in about fifty years, if that Tanuki kept feeding and beating him like she so enjoyed. But not him… and certainly not within days of Kenshin arriving…

_Kuso, kuso, kuso…_

He didn't have much time to think on it though. The kitsune approached him, and standing on tiptoe, pulled him down a bit and kissed him gently on the lips. She smelled of wood and smoke and wild things. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. She looked so sweet at that moment… "You're going to wish you never met me," she purred, backing away.

He felt some kind of change almost immediately. And it hurt. It was like he were being pushed in and stretched out everywhere. It was fast, and stopped almost as abruptly as it had started. The moment the pain ended, he could move again. The moment he could move again, the kitsune disappeared in a fit of giggles. The moment she disappeared, Hiko felt his clothes start slipping from his body, starting with the heavy cloak, followed by his now oversized shirt, and rapidly moving downward. He grasped at his clothes, while swearing loudly and colorfully at no one.

That was the moment he realized what the kitsune had done. He stumbled backwards a few steps in dazed shock, slowly running his hand across his face, down his chin, his neck, his… his…

For the first time in his life, the powerful swordsman blushed.

"Kuso…" he swore, his soft voice clear and shaking just a bit. And in his very feminine body, he sunk to his knees.

This was very, very bad…

* * *

_Author's Note: A little fun at the expense of Hiko... Thank lolo popoki for helping:P Hugs to all! (especially Hiko... er... Hiko-ette... who REALLY needs it right now...)_

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_**Man, I Feel Like a Woman**_

_**Chapter 2: In which Hiko deals with Shonen becoming Shojo…**_

He had sat tangled in his oversized cloak for a very long time, trying to figure out exactly what had happened, and what to do now. Unfortunately, nothing immediately came to mind other than killing the kitsune, which was probably not one of his better ideas, even if he _did _find that insane woman. He had a terrible feeling that she was the only way back to his natural form… and that some groveling might be involved. It almost made him consider whether or not returning to his original gender was worth his pride. There had to be another way to fix this…

It didn't even occur to him that he was sitting half-naked out in the open until the rain started, and the water did _not_ make his shirt stick to the skin of his shoulders…

With a sound somewhere between a yelp and a growl, he jumped to his feet, wrapping his gi around him as best he could, while trying to pull up his hakama, which was not cooperating with him at _all_. Swearing loudly, he impressively held both with one hand while trying to pick up his now muddy prized cloak with the other.

He gave it a heft, planning on swinging it over his shoulder. Oddly, it didn't work, and moments later, he found himself once again wrapped in the heavy material, this time facedown in the mud.

_What the hell?_ The rain was getting worse, sticking his hair to his face and back. He didn't really have to hold the gi to him anymore, since it was soaked through, and, now that it was pulled back up, was sticking to his skin. He stood again, trying to get a better footing in the mud. Making sure no folds of the mantle were under his feet. That, of course, had to have been the problem. He'd been stepping on it, and had made himself slip.

Trying to ignore the pounding rain, he grabbed at the cloak again. He managed to lift it this time, but it was a struggle.

_What the _hell_?_ Then realization dawned on him, further pissing him off. The weights were too heavy for his much lighter frame to manage easily. He was going to have to be more careful to gauge what he was capable of in this form before just doing things. Perfect… as if he didn't have _enough_ to worry about…

He half carried, half dragged the blasted thing back into his shack and threw it on the floor. It landed with a thud in the corner. Normally he'd have immediately cleaned it as best he could. The thing was an heirloom. He wasn't going to be the first master of Hiten Mitsurugi that wrecked the mantle, even if he _were_ the last to wear it. He had always been extra careful with it, sometimes appearing to worry more about the mantle than his deshi. It was one of the few things that actually visibly mattered to him. But, quite frankly, he didn't particularly give a shit at the moment. He was wet, muddy, frustrated, and _female_, and he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

Always the pragmatist, he decided to deal first with the things he knew how to fix, before he tried to repair the damaged caused by the magic-induced gender shifting, something he didn't really even want to think about. Carefully, he peeled off his soaking clothes, tossing them into the corner with his cloak to deal with later. Then, after drying off, he dug through his chest to get some fresh clothes to put on.

The storm raged outside, its fury beginning to match Hiko's own temper. Nature was reflecting his mood. If it kept copying him, the swordsman had a feeling a typhoon would be coming soon. He was ready to kill just about anything he saw at the moment. The gi he had pulled out suddenly looked ridiculously large. He tugged it on anyway, his eyebrow twitching when he noticed that it drooped pretty much everywhere, except his chest, where it almost seemed to fit. But even if he wrapped it around himself, there was a gaping opening at the top. His hakama wouldn't stay up no matter how tightly he tied it. He was certain there had to be some way to do it. He'd thought maybe it would just sort of sit on his suddenly large hips, but the narrow waist kept screwing him up on how tightly it had to be tied. And even when he _did_ get it to work well enough to let go, it slipped off and fell down as soon as he took a step.

He needed alcohol to handle his magic-induced midlife crisis, but of course, _that _was what had started this whole mess, so it wasn't even an option.

"_How the hell am I supposed to cope with this sober?_" he shouted to no one in particular.

The wind howled back at him as he ripped these clothes off as well, tossing them onto his growing pile of "big boy" garments, and went digging once more. He pulled a light green gi and grey hakama from the chest. They were Kenshin's ridiculously small training clothes (which his deshi had _no _idea that his shishou had kept). He snorted and was about to toss them back into the chest, when a whim struck him, and he tried slipping them on.

To his horror, the gi fit. It was pretty short in the arms, and tight in the chest, but that was it. The hakama barely made it over his hips and backside, and was very short, but it sufficed. For the second time in his life (and in that evening), Hiko felt his cheeks burning. He was wearing Kenshin's old clothes.

And, with the exception of their length (or lack thereof), they fit.

He took a deep breath. Then another. He counted to ten…. Then switched to one hundred… forwards… backwards… in Chinese… He'd made it to eighty-six in English before his blood pressure had lowered enough to at least keep him from having a stroke. After one more cleansing breath, he stomped back to the mantle. Brushing it off as best he could, he hung it back on its peg. He was going to need to clean it in the morning, and bleach it in the sun. If it wound up wrecked, he was going to have another reason to go fox hunting. As though he needed one.

Satisfied that at least it wouldn't be wrecked any further, Hiko stomped off to grab his futon. Maybe he could sleep this off the way he could sleep off a hangover. Maybe this _was _just a hangover or something. He just drank too much for the first time ever and was hallucinating. It happened. Generally to other people, but still… it _did_ happen…

God, he wanted alcohol. He had nothing to drink, his messed up anatomy had completely killed his appetite, and quite honestly, he was getting uncomfortable with the way Kenshin's old gi fit tolerably well everywhere except across his chest… Not to mention the fact that there was just something _wrong_ with walking around as a girl in his deshi's clothes…

He unrolled the futon and grabbed a blanket, tossing it down to the ground. He then smothered the fire, and angrily plopped down onto the futon. "There's something wrong with me walking around as a girl at all," he snarled into the darkness. His feminine voice had a softened tone, as though it were trying to comfort the angry bachelor that it was suddenly inexplicably bound to.

"Oh, shut up!" he snapped at himself, burying his face in his blanket to muffle the sound of his own voice.

It took awhile, but he finally fell asleep like that, his blanket firmly covering his ears just in case, God forbid, he talked in his sleep.

* * *

He'd been having a _very _bad dream. As the sun shone warmly onto his face, alerting him to the fact that not only was the storm over, but he was waking up far later than usual, Hiko couldn't help but wonder how much he'd drank last night. He was sore all over with a headache and stomach pains.

Food poisoning? It would explain that crazy nightmare with the kitsune and that curse, or whatever the hell it had been…

Much like a dangerous cat, he languidly sat up and stretched. It had taken him a long time to fall asleep last night, so he was still a little groggy. The stomach pains, he realized, were apparently muscle cramps. He couldn't figure out what he could possibly have done to pull a muscle there, though.

Slowly, he trudged to the door, planning to go outside and wash his face, rinsing the sleep from his eyes. Absentmindedly, the powerful swordsman grabbed his cloak from its hook and slung it over his shoulder.

The momentum of the weighted cloak didn't slow as it normally had when it met with the resistance of his broad back. Instead, in a move reminiscent of a rock and sling, the cloak continued on its path, throwing Hiko forward into the flap of his door and onto the ground. He lay there, half in and half out of his little shack, looking absolutely ridiculous.

The expression on his face was priceless. Eyes wide in shock, face pale, lips partway open in amazement of the entire incident that had taken all of thirty seconds to reduce him from a cool and smooth Adonis, to a... well... Kenshin-like baka. He blinked a few times as he picked himself out of the dirt, standing shakily. His chest seemed to have taken the brunt of the fall, and was now killing him. He rubbed at it, wincing and froze.

"Kuso." _That_ swelling wasn't going down anytime soon. _It wasn't a dream. None of it was a dream. Or a hallucination. I'm a girl. I'm still a fucking girl! And why the _hell_ do I keep winding up in the mud?_

Not having anywhere else to direct his anger, he glared fiercely at the offending article of clothing that lay about a foot a head of him, as though the entire situation were the mantle's fault. Then he noticed motion in the distance ahead of him.

A bright spot of red hair making its way innocently up the hill…

* * *

_Author's Note:A BIG thank you to lolo popoki for agreeing to beta this little piece of crack. She helped immensely... especially when my brain basically overheated, melted an__d died. BIG HUGS to her!_

_And thanks to everyone who has read this. Please review and let me know if you like (or hate) this fic. Thanks again!_

_Dewa mata!_

_Sirius_

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Man, I Feel Like a Woman**

**_Chapter 3: In which Kenshin meets 13th Mistress of Hiten Mitsurugi..._**

* * *

Kenshin was enjoying his walk. It was a beautiful day. The sun was glistening off of droplets on the leaves and grass like jewels, the only remnants of last night's wicked storm. He and his friends had come to Kyoto by train (at Kaoru's insistence as, she explained, he had a habit of picking up trouble, and girls, annoying though they may be—Misao had fumed at that one—whenever he walked anywhere). It had actually been a fun trip. Sure, Sano had been hard to deal with for the first hour or so until he passed out, but after that, and until they had to carry him out of the train to the Aoi-ya, it had been a very relaxing and event-free ride. As a result, he was fully rested when he'd been forced to deal with Saito and his offers of death by skewering during the debriefing of some mystery assassin whom Kenshin was supposedly going to help the wolf hunt down. Kenshin had even managed a halfhearted glare when he'd said he'd consider it. All in all, with the exception of the fact that there were implied dead people when Saito threw the word "hitokiri" around, and the fact that he was obviously going to have to help deal with it eventually, it had been a relatively pleasant past few days.

Now, as he neared the end of his refreshing walk up the mountain, he realized that, for the first time in his life (with the possible exception of when he'd been adopted, and was walking away from a self-erected graveyard with a man who had only seemed violently unstable, but not particularly sadistic at the time), he was actually looking _forward_ to visiting his shishou.

Kenshin paused in his walking momentarily to appreciate the warmth of the sun shining on his face and the cool breeze, still moist from last night's downpour, gently threading its way through his loosely tied hair.

This was the way he stood, only a short distance away from his shishou's cottage (he was even giving that ugly _shack_ some leeway, today), when he heard the outraged shrieking of a woman nearby. (Kenshin's face reddened as he paused to listen.) A woman who had apparently picked up more highly vulgar vocabulary than his shishou.

Then Kenshin realized just where the screaming, swearing, and apparently now _breaking_ of things, was coming from.

The peace of the day shattered, Kenshin began running up the hill, hoping this woman was not in any way tied to the arrogant bastard (_... ahem... respected Shishou_)... who lived there...

* * *

As soon as Kenshin's figure had disappeared into the trees on the last hill, Hiko had begun to exhaust his extensive vocabulary, dipping into some words and phrases that he hadn't used since the first time _his_ shishou had beat his sorry ass into the dirt and called him a baka. Of course by now he could add more emphasis by changing languages and adding to the intensity of his word choice. It was almost as much an art to him as swordsmanship or fine sake. And at the moment he was painting his surroundings with as much of this art as he could manage.

In other words, the great Hiko Seijuro the thirteenth was throwing a temper tantrum.

* * *

Kenshin ran, ignoring the brush he had to break through and the branches scraping at his arms and face. Whoever this girl was, she might be in trouble and since he was here, and had heard her, he felt responsible for helping her out. Obviously _Hiko_ was doing nothing to fix the situation... And he was definitely there. Kenshin could feel his powerful ki even from this distance...

Then an uncomfortable thought struck Kenshin. _What if she were... What if his shishou had... If she were screaming because... _Kenshin was almost sick. He hadn't even seen anything yet, and he already felt like he'd just caught his parents in a compromising situation. There wasn't time to think on it, though, as he burst through the last of the trees into a clearing, sword drawn.

Strangely, the woman was alone. She was incredibly tall and slender. Attractive in an atypical way with dark hair, falling in long, loose strands from its leather thong. She was barefoot, wearing dusty, ill-fitting clothing that had obviously been taken from someone much smaller than her...

Kenshin blushed and dropped his eyes to the ground, trying to force rational thoughts back into his mind. _Who is she...? And for that matter... where is Shishou...?_

Then it dawned on him. Very slowly.

There was only one person here... And Kenshin had felt his _shishou's_ ki...

Kenshin's cheeks reddened further, almost as bright as his hair. This just wasn't possible. No... It just wasn't _right_. He had to be mistaken. He really, _really_ hoped he was mistaken.

This _couldn't_ be his shishou. Hiko was just somwhere... else. Hiding somewhere... That was it. And this woman... She ... she just didn't have ki... Right...

He looked up again, this time closely scrutinizing the woman's face.

Her cheeks flushed as her large, angry eyes darted toward his. If looks could kill, Kenshin would have been burned alive.

_Kuso... _

"What are you staring at?" the woman growled, a sneer on her lips. Her velvet voice deadly. She took a menacing step forward, looking as though she were going to kick him back down the mountain. It would have been more intimidating if she didn't stumble over, and then proceed to kick and swear at, the cloak in her way.

Kenshin made a small choking sound. "Sh-shishou?" he asked, coughing slightly.

The woman stopped mid-curse, to send an even more deadly glare in is direction as she replied, "Obviously, baka," She crossed her arms over her expansive chest, trying to look casual, as though this sort of thing were normal, however the now erratic twitch of her eyebrow gave her away. "Who the hell else would I be? You can read ki. Do you think I'm the ki-less wonder, standing here playing hide-and-seek with your shishou, while he conceals himself in the bushes?"

Kenshin was torn between irritation at his shishou's snide comment, and trying not to laugh at the older man... er... _woman's_ ... current situation. Amusesment and vindication won out. "Well," he said casually, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth, "it _would_ make more sense than my shishou walking around in some poor woman's body, barely wearing _my_ old training gi..." Again, he coughed, longer this time. "Who exactly did you insult, anyway? A kami?" By that point, the coughing was no longer doing a sufficient job to smother the laughter.

Hiko didn't even bother warning his deshi. He was having muscle cramps again (what the _hell_ was _there _for him to _injure_?!), and he was dangerously close to having an emotional breakdown. His temper flared, and before Kenshin even knew what happened, the redhead was laying on the ground, oro-ing an octave higher than usual.

Hiko stomped back into the shack with every intention of digging out Winter Moon and maiming something.

If the baka was lucky, it wouldn't be him.

* * *

_Author's Note: FIrst of all, a great big thanks to lolo popoki for beta-ing this chapter for me... And trust me... it NEEDED the beta work... BADLY!_

_Secondly, thanks to all the readers for reading, and the reviewers for reviewing! Please keep it up:D_

_Thirdly, I decided I wanted to draw Hiko's girly form, so if you go to the following link, you'll see the lovely Hiko-ette right after his/her transformation... just before she/he has QUITE figured out what has happened:P My only request... please leave a comment if you view it:)  
http : / / siriusfan13 . deviantart . com/art/Hiko-ette-Female-Hiko-Seijuro-99092291_

_Fourthly, I now (being the weirdo I am) have decided to have a facebook. (I have a personal acct, too... but this is my generic fanfiction author one... the one where I can be pathetic and people will expect it:P Hehehe) Anyway, the link is on my bio page...  
__  
Fifthly, because I'm a loser and wanted to make groups on facebook, I made an "Out of Time" group. It is boring and nothing happens there. Please join and make it more entertaining. So far there is only one other member, and she's doing all the work to make it fun:) If nothing else, there are a few "Out of Time" fanart thingies on that group... so that something...?  
You can access it from my facebook account..._

_And now I am done being annoying and sticking links everywhere. Sorry for the shameless hyping. I just get bored and do stupid things, so sometimes it is fun making other people aware of it! Hehe... *sigh* I should NOT be allowed to have caffiene..._

_Thanks again everyone for reading and reviewing... and for putting up with this Author's Note!_

_Dewa mata!_

_Sirius_


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